


In Sickness

by simonsaysfunction



Series: Vows [1]
Category: Dragon Age
Genre: F/F, Femslash
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-01-30
Updated: 2012-01-30
Packaged: 2017-10-30 09:23:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 655
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/330209
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/simonsaysfunction/pseuds/simonsaysfunction
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Isabela returns to Kirkwall to find Hawke bedridden.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Sickness

Three years after the defeat of the Arishok, disease swept Kirkwall, starting in Darktown and travelling up through Lowtown and the Docks, taking victims indiscriminately and killing at random. Children and the elderly fell first, as was the norm, but then even the hardiest dockworker and city guard alike began to fall. Aveline was spared, something she attributed to being Fereldan, but that claim fell short when Hawke fell ill, confined to her bed from almost the start.

The templars, of course, blamed the mages for the sickness, attributing to how it struck at random and hadn’t appeared until the death of the Viscount and Meredith’s stranglehold on Kirkwall’s politics to the growing mage unrest. Fenris blamed Anders immediately, reminding everyone that Justice had been twisted into Vengeance (something Anders couldn’t argue; they were his own words used against him). Merrill, despite herself, was inclined to agree, wide eyes sad and scared when she came to visit Hawke.

Varric would come and play half-hearted games of Wicked Grace with her, letting her win for the slight, triumphant smile that curved pale lips and brought a spark back to eyes dulled from more than just being ill. He would tell her the stories of the Champion who saved Kirkwall from the Qunari. Thankfully, the public did not know she was sick or there would be hordes of admirers beating down her door.

At the moment, however, she was alone in the dark, half-naked and freezing underneath mounds of blankets. She groaned and kept her eyes closed, sweat-soaked hair plastered to her too-warm face, not finding within her enough effort to even open her eyes to stare into the inky blackness of her room. Maybe if she stayed still, not that her muscles had the strength for her to move, she could fall back asleep and when she woke she’d be dead or cured. She wasn’t sure which she preferred at this point.

The warrior made a pitiful noise, and suddenly there were cool, callused hands against her face, checking her fever. The smell of spice and rum and whiskey washed over her in the most beautiful scent she had smelled in years.

“Isabela…” She croaked, cracking an eye open to catch the faintest flicker of gold in the dark, heard the clink of jewelry and the rustle of cloth as the figure moved, eventually making the mattress dip.

“I leave for a few years and you’re half-dead. This is some way to punish me, Hawke.” When the taller woman tried to respond, the pirate shushed her with a finger against her mouth that traced the outline of her lips before her palm was against her cheek and there was a kiss to her forehead. “Maker’s breath, you’re burning up. Rest. I won’t have you die on me.”

“You won’t leave?” It was hell trying to make her swollen throat cooperate enough to force coherent sound through it and she closed her eyes afterwards, only to release a rattling cough, the sound startling Isabela into stretching out on the bed beside her (ex?) lover, boots already on the floor. Her arms slid around the warrior’s form, the chill of gold against scalding skin making her shiver, though she would have even without it.

“As much as I love your mouth, go to sleep.” Hawke contentedly burrowed into the pirate, forgetting or ignoring the fact that she hadn’t gotten an answer.

And when Merrill and Varric came to check on her? The warrior’s head was pillowed on her pirate queen’s chest, the latter’s fingers splayed on the former’s lower back, other hand tangled in dark locks. The elf stifled a gasp of delighted surprise, while the dwarf merely gave a slow smirk and ushered Merrill out of the bedroom.

“Isabela came back! I knew she would. I wonder why she did.”

“I promise it will come to you, Daisy. Now how about another tour of the Keep’s gardens?”


End file.
